“What?” he asked, his voice gruff even as he looked a little more closely at his hand. He’d washed up before sitting down, but the kind of magical substances he worked with didn’t always go away with a little soap and water. But there was no stain of ichor on his palm, no stubborn dusting of powdered dragon scales (worse than glitter, that shite was), and therefore no reason he could think of for her not to shake his hand.
And then she said, “Once we shake on it, it’s official, right? We’re coworkers?”
Still confused, Bowen frowned even harder. “Aye,” he confirmed with a nod, and she matched it with a nod of her own.
“Right then. Better do this first.”
With that, she reached out, fisted her hand in the front of his jumper, and yanked his mouth down to hers.
Bowen had a moment—just the briefest spark of a second—to think, What—?
Then no more thoughts at all.
Just taste. Her mouth, sweet and cold from the wine.
Scent. That perfume, but also a deeper, softer scent that he knew was just her skin, the way her sheets would smell.
Feel. Christ, the feel of her. Her lips pliant, mouth wet; her tongue against his with no shame, no hesitation. Like they weren’t in the shadowy alcove of a pub, but in her bedroom, alone and far from any eyes.
Somehow Bowen’s hand had fallen to the curve of her hip, his fingers digging into the denim of her jeans as he held her close to him and kissed her back just as thoroughly. He was dimly aware of someone giving an approving whistle, but that was impossible, because there was no one else here, no one else in the whole world, no doubt, except him and this woman.
And then it was over.
He felt the cold air slide back between them as she stepped out of his arms, her face flushed, her lips almost obscenely wet, and those big dark eyes of hers glassy with desire.
Bowen’s chest was heaving, his hand still out, fingers curled in the space between them, and Tamsyn gave a shaky laugh as she smoothed her hair back from her face.
“Personal rule,” she told him. “Never get involved with a coworker. But. Also a personal rule: Never let a good mistletoe moment pass by.”
She pointed above them, and Bowen saw the gathered cluster of green leaves, white berries, gold ribbon.
He was still dazedly staring at it when Tamsyn grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake.
“See you later, boss,” she said, and with a jingle of the bell and a gust of cold air, she was gone.
January
From: BGPCymru@gmail.com
To: BlighAcquisitionsLLC@aol.com
Subject: (none)
T—
Attaching description/last known location of 13th century goblet mentioned in last email. Supposed to be a necromancy thing, probably bollocks, but keep an eye out.
B
From: BlighAcquisitionsLLC@aol.com
To: BGPCymru@gmail.com
Subject: RE: (none)
B—
“Probably” bollocks? PROBABLY? When it comes to necromancy, I feel like that “probably” is doing a lot of work, my friend! Pay and a half. For hazards.
T
From: BGPCymru@gmail.com
To: BlighAcquisitionsLLC@aol.com
Subject: RE: RE: (none)
We didn’t negotiate hazard pay.
From: BlighAcquisitionsLLC@aol.com
To: BGPCymru@gmail.com
